31st January:

Whilst it is somewhat unrealistic to suggest that the current global economic malaise is singularly the fault of one Mr. Jerome Kerviel, previous employee of Societe Generale, it is intriguing to note that the US government’s recent 0.75% interest rate cut may have been influenced in some way or another by the uncertainty that Mr. Kerviel’s trading positions caused in certain markets.

Personally, I have always had a sneaky suspicion that the US economy is on far more of a shaky peg that any economic analyst or stock market trader would ever admit. Despite being one of the world’s original superpowers, the veneer of American economic wealth can often appear very thin indeed – the country has a huge poverty issue and hurricane Katrina exposed some parts of American society as being practically third world in terms of the conditions in which people were living. The images were shocking because they were just not the kind of thing we expect to see in a developed Western economy.

The old adage states that when America sneezes, the rest of the world catches a cold. However, America does seem to have the sniffles on a far more regular basis than ever before. China has almost single-handedly undermined the US’s manufacturing base and has already stated its aim to become a knowledge-based economy within the next decade. Which will leave the US with agriculture. Eek. People of America - expect a return to life in a mud hut with your face painted blue within the next 20 years. 5 if you watch Fox. However, don’t panic. Starbucks and wi-fi will still be available.

Another offering from the International Bureau of Studies into the Bloody Obvious: people are most vulnerable to depression in their 40’s. No shit, Sherlock.

Could it possibly be that you wake up on your 44^th birthday and realise that you are fatter, balder, less wealthy and less interesting than you envisaged you would be at that age? Do you recall those heady days of your youth when you looked into the future and imagined yourself with a Porsche and a Range Rover on the front driveway of your magnificent 5 bedroom detached Surrey home? Of course people in their 40’s get depressed! It is unfortunately the decade when you have to accept that, barring a freakish lottery win, life is about as good as it going to get and you need to let go of your unrealistic aspirations and accept the fact that it’s all downhill from here.

Come to think of it, given recent reports into the expected cost of personal care in the future perhaps you’d be better off swallowing the whole bottle of pain killers and finishing yourself off before you hit 45. That would do us all a favour.

29th January:

Your congenial host is finally recovering from a nasty bout of Influenzavirus B. And before anyone asks, this was proper flu rather than man-flu - the kind that knocks you on your arse for a week in a sweaty pit of delirium, convinced the curtains are coming off the wall to steal your face. One of the remarkable side-effects of this flu was a genuinely intense depression that lasted for almost 48 hours. I guess it is natural that any virus infecting your body will also have an impact on your brain function, but I certainly didn't expect to feel so low or so slow. At one point, even daytime television seemed challenging. It's easy to be flippant about the flu until you remember that it actually kills 12,000 people in the UK every year. The world-wide mortality figure is somewhere in the region of 400,000 to 1.4 million. Which is actually bloody scary. Suffice to say, I'll be using the word much more cautiously in the future.

It would appear that some material changes have been made to the "How to be a Politician" handbook - the large leather-bound tome that I imagine is handed out to you on your first day as an elected MP. In years gone by, the first whiff of scandal or impropriety would immediately result in a resignation letter and a public apology, and the offending (offensive?) parliamentarian would then disappear off the radar for a few years to lick his wounds before securing a cushy non-Executive Directorship with one of the large petrochemical companies or merchant banks. Now, however, the handbook chapter entitled "What to do when you've been caught with your hand in the till" seems to direct politicians to 'tough it out' in the full glare of the media spotlight. Witness the recent spectacle of Peter Hain / Wendy Alexander / Derek Conway appearing grim-faced in front of the television cameras denying any wrong-doing and espousing the need to "get on with the job I was elected to do". "Resigning would be the easy way out", they all say. "I'm a fighter , not a quitter", they all say. "I believe in the need to knuckle down and get on with hard work of representing my constituency", they all say. Until such time as guilt is irrefutable or the rozzers are called in to investigate.

Three cheers, then, for the three pillars of any modern democracy: nepotism, cronyism and deviancy.

27th January:

One of the comedy side-effects of young children is that rather than watching the football highlights on Saturday night, you get to watch them at 7.30 on a Sunday morning. Oh, how times change...

Anyone working in the world of retail must marvel at the "Ikea effect" - that strange ability that Ikea has of parting you from 3 times the amount of cash you were intending to spend when you set off that morning. I still haven't worked out how they do it. You go to buy a small office chair and come off with bags full of stuff. And meatballs.

I recently spent a week in Las Vegas attending a large trade show. Vegas, for anyone who has never been, is a gold-plated turd. Yes, the level of detail that has gone into re-creating the Eiffel Tower and St. Mark's Square is quite extraordinary, but you only have to look at the number of disabled people playing slot machines at 8am on a Sunday morning to realise what the town is really all about. Sin City it may be, but there is also a definite sense of quiet desperation in the oxygen enriched air.

A true story: one of my colleagues was sitting in his hotel room at 11pm one night when there was a knock at the door. He opened the door and there was a tall blonde woman standing in the corridor. Without being judgemental about it, she was clearly a sex worker. "I'm here" she said. "Yes, so you are", my colleague replied. "But I'm 99 per cent sure I ordered the Pepperoni".

4th January:

Pikey High Street pub chain JD Wetherspoons have apparently decided that a pub is no place for children. So if you go in there with your youngsters to, say, have lunch, you run the risk of being told by the no-doubt equally pikey bar-person that you will only be served a maximum of two alcoholic drinks. This is to ensure that you don't get streaming drunk and beat your children publicly to within an inch of their lives. Good to see they know their clientèle, eh?

As has been noted elsewhere in these pages ad nauseum, I like the idea of treating people like adults. Until they prove they don't deserve it. So us sensible people who are capable of having a glass or two of wine with our steak and ale pie in the country pub will carry on with our lives regardless. And those who get turfed out on to the urban pavement after a soggy burger and 2 bottles of WKD will probably just tie their offspring up to the nearest lamppost and head straight back to the bar. Thus has it always been and thus shall it always be.

People in the UK talk about binge drinking culture and the perils of 24 hour licensing but the fact of the matter remains that someone who drinks 12 pints over an evening and then goes outside and batters the first person who looks at them strangely is just that kind of person. An idiot. These are surely primarily issues of personal responsibility and education. Yes, OK, the licensing trade has a role to play and Wetherspoons probably shouldn't sell obscure brands of cereal-waste-product-based Vodka substitute for 99 pence a shot but just because it's there doesn't mean people have to drink it.

Suffice to say that Wetherspoons have never profited from a single penny of my disposable income and today's revelation will ensure that this remains the state of play for some time to come.

Oh, and mine's a large one.

1st January 2008:

Happy New Year to everyone who wants it.

2007 was a tough year. The birth of our first child, her health issues and many different professional challenges ensured that it was never boring and was lived at a pace the like of which I don't think I've ever experienced before. Is this what happens when you get a little older? Do the days suddenly begin racing away from you as you fumble around filled with paranoia over your worth to society? Probably, I'm guessing.

Anyhoo, enough of this maudlin. Must be the festive overindulgences talking. Back to the herbal tea and organic shortbread biscuits. Bonne Annee a tous.